Plymouth, too, embraced the brief summer of this year. Fiona noticed that her blue uniform had seemingly grown shorter overnight.

"You''ve grown quite a bit, Miss Fiona," the nun in charge of the boarders said with a smile. "And blossomed into an even comelier young lady, I must say."

On this August night, Fiona tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep due to the oppressive heat. The chirping of insects and the song of the nightingale outside seemed magnified countless times. Restless, she turned to her side and decided to open her eyes, gazing into the nocturnal landscape beyond her window.

After a while, the little girl faintly heard a woman''s voice singing. At first, she almost believed it to be a figment of her imagination. She strained her ears to listen, as the ethereal voice carried both sorrow and longing, as if it were the lament of a distant soul.

"Fairer than Apollo''s radiant gleam,

My love, a vision, beyond any dream.

His eyes, like diamonds, his crown of gold,

I grasp his trembling hand, our love to hold.

But alas, they severed my beloved''s head!

Oh, how I yearn to cradle it instead.

Upon my knee, I''d place that pale brow,

With countless kisses, my love I''d endow.

I''d plant it in a pot with utmost care,

Watered day and night with tears of despair.

From that burial soil, a miracle may arise,

A blooming poppy, in vibrant disguise!"

The eccentric lyrics sent Fiona into a shivering state. The haunting melody drew closer, whi